Sooner or Later
by BethBobby
Summary: "Not that I don't totally approve of what you just did, but holy shit, what did you just do?" Or that time Derek tells Stiles to shut up, Stiles tells him to make him, and Derek totally does.


**Sooner or Later  
****by  
****BethBobby**

A/N: This was written as a follow on for 'I Found My Sweet Escape' but can be read as a stand-alone fic, there's only one or two sentences that reference that fic. It is based around 6 months after the Nogitsune is defeated, Stiles is still healing and as such it's not all sunshine and rainbows. No one could go through what Stiles went through and come out the other side perfectly fine, no matter what Jeff Davis would have you believe. This was supposed to be fluff, then it got angsty, but it does end with fluff, I promise.

Also, for this fic, I'm calling the Sheriff 'John', that's his name in my headcanon and also, Stiles slept with Malia in the Echo House episode.

Link to I Found My Sweet Escape: /s/10275531/1/I-ve-Found-My-Sweet-Escape

* * *

Sooner or later,  
I swear, we're gonna make it,  
We're gonna make it,  
Sooner or later, I swear.  
We'll make it there,  
Sooner than later."

- Mat Kearney 'Sooner or Later'

* * *

"Stiles, I can hear you thinking. Stop it," Derek glanced up from where he was perched on Stiles' desk chair, his feet crossed and resting on the edge of the desk.

The teenager looked up from his laptop.

"You know that that is a physical impossibility, big guy," he teased, scrunching up a sheet of paper that was covered in scribbled notes and throwing it at Derek, taking some small satisfaction when it did actually hit the werewolf.

It hit his arm, but still, Stiles counted it as a win.

Derek looked from the ball of paper that had landed in on the floor beside his chair to Stiles, who was smirking and reaching for a second sheet of paper.

"Do. Not." Derek warned, letting his eyes glow blue for a moment, enjoying the slight uptick of Stiles' heartbeat but not allowing himself to think about it for too long.

"Would you rather I told you about Faeries? Because I totally can. Did you know that Faeries don't like clutter, mess or dirt, so your loft is out, it would never be a good Faery home." Stiles told him with a smile.

"Stiles." Derek said, placing his book on the desk and leaning forward, but the hyperactive teenager carried on with his speech, arms beginning to wave.

"There are many different types of Faeries, like Butterfly Faeries, Cloud Faeries, Dryads, Earth Faeries. Banshees are a type of Faery! We don't even know what type we're dealing with. It says that they have many different abilities, some of which include, healing, causing illness in cattle or people and similarly to other mythical creatures, they can also control the minds of.."

Derek can see the exact moment Stiles realises what he's saying. His flailing limbs freeze and he pales, taking on a scared look that Derek has come to both despise and fear.

"Hey, hey Stiles. Stop researching now, okay? You've been at it all day, take a break, I'm sure Kira and Lydia will have found some information too." Derek moved forward, desperate to diffuse the impending situation before it has the chance to become a panic attack.

He saw the younger boy blink and take a deep breath; listened as his heat rate slowed fractionally, Stiles' hand reaching out to clutch at Derek's forearm, squeezing it.

"You okay?" Derek asked, eyes scanning Stiles' face for signs of further panic, noting with relief that the stressed, hard lines of his forehead were gradually relaxing again.

After what seemed like an age, Stiles sighed, closing his eyes in annoyance as he spoke, "I hate that after all this time just the thought of the Nogitsune can give me a panic attack. It makes me feel weak, like it still has some kind of hold over me, even now."

"Stiles, it's only been six months. What you went through would destroy some people, you've come back fighting. Give yourself some credit." Derek told him, placing the hand not being held by Stiles onto the other boy's knee.

Stiles nodded, but he didn't look certain. He released Derek's arm, flopping back against his pillows with a stiff arm wave that Derek knew was meant to look light hearted and like his usual flailing self, instead it made the werewolf's throat constrict. Stiles shouldn't have to try so hard to be 'normal'. He shouldn't have to pretend and force himself to be okay for their sakes. Sure, Derek didn't want him to revert back to the terrified, guilt riddled stage that had occurred directly after the defeat of the Nogitsune, but at the same time, it was okay for him to not always be okay. He was making progress and that was all that mattered to Derek.

Derek didn't know when the scrawny, clumsy, hyperactive teenager had come to mean so much to him. Whether it had been the morning after they fell asleep together, when Derek had woken to Stiles watching him from the other side of the pillow, or whether it had been after his first day back at school, when shortly after lunchtime, he had let himself into Derek's loft, tears streaming down his face, his breathing so rapid that Derek thought he was hurt at first. That was the first time Derek had ever seen Stiles fully break down. He had seen him panicked and desperate when the Darach had captured his father in order to sacrifice him, but never like he had that day. That day he had seen the Stiles that the outside exterior had been trying to hold back. The rawness, the uncontrolled terror, the crippling guilt for the death of his friends. Derek felt as though he had witnessed the rebirth of Stiles. Gone was the jovial innocence of the teenager, replaced with a hard mask of carefully controlled emotions. Derek felt as though he had been privy to the rebuilding of the walls around Stiles, the walls that had been blown apart by the Nogitsune.

Or maybe, Derek thought, it was the time they had spent together in the last few months. The closeness of companionship which had allowed Derek to see a side of Stiles that wasn't just what was portrayed on the outside. The Stiles that was afraid for his father, who too had been thrown into the world of the Supernatural. The Stiles who was so afraid of not being needed or wanted. The Stiles who, despite having his friends, despite having Scott, was lonely and unsure of himself. Who was uncomfortable in his own skin.

Stiles had never been particularly aware of himself. Had never, even now, understood his worth, both to the pack, but to his friends and family. The teenager had confessed that he worried that his Dad blamed him for everything that had happened within their lives. That he knew how difficult having a son like him had been on his father, especially since the death of his mother. That he worried if his father's drinking was his fault.

Maybe it was the way he made Derek feel less lonely. Cora was gone, Peter was always busy, Isaac was gone, Scott, and sometimes Stiles too, was busy with Malia, teaching her. Derek knew that he himself didn't slot neatly into this picture and maybe that was why he had come to care about Stiles. He had always felt the need to protect him, hell; the boy could seriously injure himself walking across a flat surface without adding werewolves and numerous other mythical creatures into the mix. He had always felt protective of him, but in the same way as he did Scott, Isaac, Erica or Boyd. The latter three he had let down so badly.

But Stiles was different. Stiles who had been Scott's plus one. The added extra that Peter hadn't counted on, yet respected all the same. Stiles, who was easily as smart as Lydia, who perhaps could be smarter if he had the ability to focus like she did. Stiles who, in a way, had kept them all together, who was the voice of reason, the rational one out of the group. Stiles, who Derek had taken longer to trust than the others because of his ability to leave them. He was human; he could easily decide that he was done with all things supernatural and just leave them all behind, yet chose to stick around through thick and thin. Stiles, who had eventually gained more of Derek's respect and trust than any of the others.

Or maybe it was the way that he could make Derek laugh.

Genuinely _laugh_.

Or the way he could call Derek out on his crap without even a moment's hesitation.

So many things that were purely Stiles, which just made Derek feel human again. Things that made the holes left behind by the loss of his family begin to ache less.

Perhaps it was the way Stiles had become much more comfortable in Derek's presence than he ever had before. Previously he had made the teenager nervous, afraid even, but lately, Derek could feel that Stiles was happy to see him. His scent was relaxed, his movements non-jittery. Never co-ordinated, but much less unsettled. Must less prone to overdramatic reactions which usually ended in exuberant flailing and Derek attempting to catch him before he managed to concuss himself on the walls or sparse furniture of the loft.

It was a little weird for a while after Stiles accidentally fell asleep at the loft once and Scott called, freaking out, saying that the Sheriff was worried that something had happened to Stiles because he hadn't come home from school. His jeep was in the shop again and Derek had picked him up so that he didn't have to walk home in the foot of snow that currently covered the ground. When the Sheriff arrived at the loft twenty minutes later and took in the sight of his teenage son sprawled across Derek's bed, he had fixed Derek with a questioning look that only a father was capable of.

"He's been over here an awful lot lately," the sheriff had said, narrowing his eyebrows and crossing his arms. "I know it was you who managed to talk him out of the state that the Nogitsune left him in and I will always be grateful for that, but he is still healing. He's not in the right frame of mind and if I hear that you've been taking advantage of that, Chris Argent gave me some Wolfsbane bullets and I will use them."

Derek had shaken his head, "it's not anything like that, I swear. Sometimes when he's here, I'm not even here myself. I think he likes to get away from everything. I don't know. I wonder myself why he comes here sometimes. I would never do anything to hurt him."

"I'm not saying you would do it intentionally, Derek, but he's a lot younger than you, and right now, he's a mess." Sheriff Stilinski looked at his sleeping son and sighed, a heavy, worried noise that Derek could relate to. Sometimes he felt the same way when he looked at the boy before them.

"I would never.." Derek had started, feeling the need to stress that he wasn't taking advantage of Stiles.

"I know, son." The sheriff clapped a hand to the werewolf's shoulder. "I just needed to know that. Even I'm not stupid enough to not see the difference in him since you got involved and he's been coming here."

"I haven't done anything." Derek shrugged, moving towards the kitchen area and pointing towards the coffee pot, offering a mug to Stiles' father.

John nodded, moving to sit on one of the chairs at the breakfast bar.

Derek poured the coffee, sliding the mug towards the older man before taking the seat opposite him, looking over at the bed as Stiles stirred slightly, dragging his hoodie over his head and pushing it to one side before pulling the duvet up around his chin.

John had sighed. "He doesn't get much sleep these days. If it's not panic attacks, he's waking up screaming."

"He said they were getting better." Derek grimaced, dumping sugar into his coffee in an attempt not to see the pain on the Sheriff's face.

He was a good father to Stiles, much like Derek's own had been. He cared about his son and would go to the ends of the earth for him, Derek knew that, and it hurt to see him suffering alongside Stiles.

"The panic attacks are becoming less frequent now, maybe only once or twice a week. Even so, he's still only managing one, maybe two full nights of undisturbed sleep every week. Dealing with all this, his final year of school, I don't know how he's managing to do it all and keep his grades up. They haven't dipped at all. I'm concerned he's suffering from PTSD, but every time I recommend talking to someone, he clams up." John told him, taking a swig of coffee, watching as Stiles settled back into sleep. "I know he can't go to therapy like other people can, but he could at least talk to someone who knows about all the supernatural stuff."

Derek could hear Stiles' heartbeat and breathing evening out as exhaustion dragged him back into unconsciousness. He nodded at John, "he had a panic attack here a few days ago. Scott, Kira and Malia were here going over some research project for school. One minute they were all fine, Scott and Kira were going over notes, Stiles was sat on the sofa researching, the next minute Malia leaned over to look at something on the laptop and that was it. It was like someone had flipped a switch. Scott managed to calm him down, but he was off for the rest of the evening."

"From what I can gather with the little bits Stiles has told me, Malia was also at Echo House. Maybe she brings back bad memories?" the sheriff had suggested.

Derek gave a small, half-shrug, not knowing what to offer in response.

They had lapsed into a mutual silence as both parties pondered their own opinions, speaking only to top up on coffee. Almost an hour had passed before John had stood.

"We need to head home; I'm on the early shift tomorrow so I can't pick him up later." Sheriff Stilinski explained.

Derek had nodded, refraining from offering to drive Stiles home like he'd wanted to, mindful of John's earlier warning, watching as the Sheriff walked over to his son, touching his shoulder gently to rouse him.

Stiles had groaned, pulling the duvet more tightly around himself as he mumbled into the pillow.

"Go away, D'rek."

"It's not Derek, come on Stiles, we need to go home." John spoke softly to his son, watching as Stiles blinked rapidly in an attempt to wake up.

"Dad? What are you doing here? What time is it?"

"It's almost nine thirty. You fell asleep. I was worried when you didn't come home from school, so I called Scott."

"M'sorry, Dad. I totally didn't mean to fall asleep; I would have called if I was going to be late." Stiles sat up, glancing at Derek who was still stood by the breakfast bar and then back to his father.

"I know kiddo, I know. It's okay."

As they had left, the Sheriff had given Derek one last warning look, though it was much less severe than earlier in the evening.

The weirdness hadn't lasted much longer than a day or two, once Stiles had managed to fully convince his father than Derek hadn't tried anything untoward with him. Three months had passed since then. Derek was pleased to note that the panic attacks were practically gone, unless Stiles was taken off guard by something. The nightmares were still a work in progress. Stiles would have nightmare free spells, followed by a night or two of waking up screaming. He would never tell anyone what is was that he saw in those nightmares, but whatever it was, it had him spooked.

* * *

"Do you think that the Faeries we saw were bad?" Stiles' voice snapped him out of his reminiscing.

"Hmm?" Derek asked, shaking his head slightly in an attempt to pull himself out of his own thoughts.

"Do you think that the Faeries in the woods are bad?" Stiles asked, watching as Derek flopped onto his back to lie lengthways across Stiles' bed, his legs dangling off the side and his shirt riding up slightly to reveal his lower torso.

Stiles turned his head, swallowing and refusing to look. The last thing he needed was an awkward boner.

He seriously had to get a grip of himself; sure, Derek was hot, like, Adonis-sculpted-by-Gods kind of hot, but Stiles wasn't sure if he was over what had happened with Malia at Echo House. He wasn't completely sure how he felt about it, watching himself having sex with someone he barely knew and having no control over it, but every time he was around Malia it just brought back memories of how powerless he had felt at that time. He had been a first-hand witness to everything, even more so now that the Nogitsune was gone, now that it was no longer controlling what memories Stiles could access within his own head.

Losing his virginity without his consent was not the way he'd wanted it to happen. He didn't believe in the idea of 'your first time being special' because how could awkward, inexperienced fumbling be special? But only having memories of the event rather than having actually experienced it for himself, without his permission, made his stomach churn.

"I don't know, they didn't try to hurt us," Derek commented, turning to look at Stiles as the younger boy shifted, resting his feet on Derek's toned stomach. "Nice, Stiles."

Stiles' smirked, the expression quickly changing when Derek tickled one of his feet.

"Nonono!" Stiles laughed, writhing as Derek clutched his foot, his free foot coming to poke Derek in the side.

Derek smiled, releasing Stiles' foot and watching as the teenager flipped himself over, walking on his knees towards Derek on the bed.

"Payback is a bitch isn't it Stiles." Derek smirked.

"Ok, I'm sorry I threw the paper at you, but in my defence, you were insulting my thinking process." Stiles said, leaning over Derek to grab his phone from where it had fallen onto the floor.

"Stiles, would it have been too much effort to just get off the bed rather than crawling all over me?" Derek asked, grunting as Stiles' elbow found his ribs.

"Yes. This is much easier. Hey, ouch!" Stiles yelped as Derek pushed him sideways, causing him to roll off the side of the bed.

Derek swung his body around, rolling onto his stomach and grinning down at the younger boy.

"You're loving this aren't you, playing the horrible big brother, I bet Laura and Cora always used to beat you up." Stiles said, pushing himself up onto his elbows, tilting his head back to glare at the werewolf. "You love it, being mean and pushing me around because you can't boss the pack around anymore now that Scott's the alpha, so you're taking to bullying a poor, defenceless human."

"Stiles." Derek started, but the boy held up a finger, clearly still mid-rant.

"You think you're some kind of badass Sodapop Curtis figure, if you start greasing your hair back I'll be worried. I mean, you totally have the badass thing going for you, but.."

"Stiles, what are you even talking about? Who the hell is Sodapop Curtis?" Derek asked, trying to catch hold of Stiles' waving arm.

"Who is Sodapop Curtis? What the hell? Did you skip a year of high school? The Outsiders, which is possibly one of the most amazing books ever, seriously, you need to read it. You'd totally love Darry and the silent brooding getting everyone to do what he wants by barking orders thing he has going on because I know you totally dig that."

"Stiles, shut up."

"I can't believe you've never even heard of The Outsiders!"

Derek rolled his eyes, "Stiles, shut up."

"Make me!" came the indignant squeak of a reply as Stiles took a deep breath, this mouth moving before his brain had the chance to realise what he'd said.

Derek quirked an eyebrow, "make you?"

"Um, what?" Stiles paused, his arms stilling as he looked up at Derek, his brain finally catching up to his mouth and then stumbling as he realised not only what he had said, but also how close he and Derek were.

"You just told me to make you." Derek breathed, waiting for Stiles to move away, noting the way the boy's heart rate had spiked.

"Well, yeah," Stiles muttered, his eyes scanning Derek's as though waiting for Derek to react.

Derek wasn't sure what it was, which instinct told him to do it. He didn't even realise he was moving until his mouth met Stiles', the teenager's lips soft and pliant under his own.

He felt Stiles suck in a breath, his mouth slightly hesitant and started to pull away, his own heart racing with panic. What if Stiles didn't want this? Was it too soon? Was he still in too much of a bad place for this to count as being taken advantage of?

"Not that I don't totally approve of what you just did, but holy shit, what did you just do?" came the reply.

"God, I..I'm sorry," Derek started, stopping when Stiles shook his head, moving back in to recapture Derek's lips.

"I'm not," Stiles murmured against Derek's mouth, allowing himself to be pulled back onto the bed, one of Derek's hands on his cheek, the other cupping the nape of his neck gently enough that Stiles could pull away without any resistance.

Derek smiled slightly, his mouth moving as Stiles' opened, granting him access.

The kiss was sloppy, Derek out of practise and Stiles inexperienced, but it was good, amazing. It was raw, verging on desperate and passionate in a way that Derek hadn't experienced before. It felt like a lifeline.

Stiles' hands were hesitant as they landed on Derek's chest, moving up to his neck and then back down again seeming uncertain what to do with them.

"I don't know.." Stiles began, shaking his head slightly

"It doesn't matter, whatever you want, whatever you're okay with," Derek told him, his thumb moving over Stiles' cheekbones as he pressed feather light kisses to the corner of Stiles' mouth.

Stiles hands raked through Derek's hair, moving forward to press their bodies together, bringing them chest to chest.

Derek slid a hand down Stiles' back, lifting him slightly to enable him to move the younger boy backwards, breaking the kiss again to gauge Stiles' reaction as he pushed Stiles onto his back, worried about his response to Derek hovering above him.

"It's okay," Stiles smiled slightly, his voice gentle, "I trust you."

The answering smile was blinding as Derek surged down to reclaim Stiles' mouth, hands cupping Stiles' face as the teenager's hands moved down Derek's chest, pausing slightly when he reached the hem of Derek's shirt.

"Derek, I, can you, um," he stammered, attempting to talk around kissed, tugging at Derek's shirt.

Derek huffed out a laugh, "do you have a thing for me shirtless? This is not the first time this has happened in here."

He smirked as Stiles blushed before reaching backwards and pulling his shirt over his head, tossing it onto the floor. Stiles' eyes roamed over the expanse of Derek's chest, his face uncertain before he tugged Derek's face back down to his.

"We don't have to do anything you're not sure of," Derek told him, both seeing and sensing Stiles' nervousness.

"I just, it's stupid." Stiles shook his head.

"Tell me, I guarantee that it won't be stupid." Derek told him, pushing himself upwards and sitting back, resting himself gently on Stiles' legs, his thighs either side of them.

Stiles blushed, looking to the side for a moment, taking a breath, "it's, I, when I was at Echo House, I, well the Nogitsune, had sex with Malia. I don't think, I don't know if I can go further, just yet. I'm sorry."

Derek frowned and Stiles' stomach clenched, sure that the older man would leave, scared that he'd just ruined whatever it was that they'd started. Stiles wanted it, he really did, he just couldn't. Not yet. Not until he'd had a chance to get things straight in his head. He couldn't go further with Derek until he'd made his peace over what had happened with Malia.

"God, Stiles," Derek released a sharp huff of breath and rubbed a hand over his face. "You don't have to be sorry. Don't ever be sorry for saying no. We don't have to go further; we can stop right now if you wanted. I told you, whatever you want is fine."

He heard Stiles' sigh of relief, "so we can just do this? For a little while? We don't have to have sex?"

Derek smiled, "no, we don't have to have sex. We have as much time as you need. Is this is okay?"

"This is more than okay," Stiles nodded, his hands finding Derek's jean loops and pulling gently, "come back please."

Laughing, Derek allowed himself to be pulled forward.

"Make me."

* * *

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